Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set)

by Marsha A. Moore

  Lyra jumped back, frightened by both his assertive tone and the vibrations pummeling her from the rocks.

  He studied the pile. “This was sealed by my father after I returned from my appointed travels. The journey was too dangerous to be made by both him, the leader at the time, and me, his heir. Instead, I accompanied the previous Imperial Sorcerer, your mentor.” He nodded to Cullen.

  The Imperial Dragon gently reached a forelimb into the air above the outcropping. He passed his clawed hand in small circles over the entire area. At one edge, a narrow beam of light shot into his palm. He reached down and unearthed an angular black rock, the size of a tennis ball, like a shard of glass covered with white stripes. He picked it up and turned his other hand over to reveal its mate nestled in the palm. Each pulsed with a silvery glow. “Obsidian formed from deep within the fiery underworld of Terza. This pair of stones possesses rare, perfectly matched banding—the key to unlocking this portal—Axiolite Obsidians. They mark this entrance to Terza’s mysterious labyrinth.”

  Slowly, the rocks and boulders rolled away, revealing a tunnel opening. The passageway was wide, unlike the rowan root network Lyra traveled through under the Dark Realm’s Silva Nocens forest. An odor of damp decay drifted from the entrance.

  “You will need to use both wits and magic. Trickery, black magic, and unscrupulous bartering abound. No price is too high in trades with the residents of Terza—even life itself.”

  “Will our Alliance magic operate within Terza?” Cullen asked as he stood tall and planted his staff.

  “It will, unless blocked or altered with screens of dark magic. If you can perform your crafts, use them to conduct services or conjure objects for trade to gain the cure. Our magic system is foreign to them and will bring wonder and attention, both good and bad. Time is precious. Return soon and safely.”

  “How long do we have?” Lyra asked.

  “Return before the end of this day,” the leader replied.

  Cullen nodded. “Any longer and many residents will show advanced symptoms, and there will be even more deaths.” He looked at the Imperial Dragon. “Is the labyrinth enchanted or stationary?”

  “I don’t recall that it changed, but it proved a difficult impediment none the less.” He lifted his long neck up to the level of the Gatekeeper’s fissured bark face. “This portal must remain open for their return. You will guard it continuously. My blue dragon sentries will provide a constant patrol.”

  “I will remain stalwart in service to the Alliance, my lord.” The ancient tree bent into as much of a bow as his stiff trunk allowed.

  Cullen took a step across the threshold and turned back to Lyra. “Are you sure you wish to accept this risk? You are under no obligation.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind. Being with you, helping you, and helping the Alliance is what I intend to do.”

  He offered her a hand, which she accepted and carefully placed a foot onto the rock stair. Cullen pressed his lips to her cheek.

  “Bring each other safely home. I’ll be waiting,” Cranewort called after them as they stepped into the tunnel.

  Lyra turned and waved before following Cullen lower into the dim light. She held tight to his shoulder until her eyes adjusted.

  A silvery glow shined farther along the tunnel. The source remained unclear. It provided enough light to find the way, but the uneven rock walls and floor cast deceptive shadows. Twice her foot dropped into depressions that sent her scrambling to regain balance.

  “We’re going so slowly,” she whispered. “Could we create some light? Or will that call attention to us?”

  “It might alert others, but we do need to pick up our pace.” The sapphire apex of his staff shot a beam of blue light into the corridor ahead.

  Immediately before them stood three well-fed white rats, their beady, black eyes transfixed by Cullen’s light.

  Lyra suppressed a yelp.

  The lead rat, covered in matted, dirty fur, crept toward them. Its body extended at least two feet, not counting the stringy tail. Lifting its nose to the air, it sniffed and bared a mouthful of dagger-like, yellowed teeth.

  Cullen lowered his staff and aimed at the hissing rodent, while Lyra did the same with the sapphire sets of her bloodswear ring.

  With a snap of its jaws, the rat turned away, its pink, hairless tail slithering three feet behind. The other two hissed and scampered to catch up with the alpha.

  When they continued walking, Lyra repeatedly heard the scritch-scratch of claws on stone and jerked her head back and forth. Most times, she saw nothing, but once or twice the tip of a rat tail slipped into the shadows and sent a shiver through her spine.

  Farther along, water trickled down the walls and permeated the dank air with the smell of sulfur. Although the tunnel was wide, large enough for a full-grown dragon to travel, she grabbed the hem of her skirt into one hand. She didn’t want to touch the walls, in case the oozing water held some dark charm.

  “Had you ever heard of this place?” she asked.

  “Only in children’s rhymes that are popular in the Meadow. I didn’t believe it was real.”

  “How did the rhyme go?”

  “Hmm. Let’s see. Mind your mama and fill her stove with coal. Or Vizards and scorpents of Terza will steal your toys and eat you whole.”

  “A pleasant verse.” Lyra shook her head. “Guess that kept children from wanting to find this place.”

  “I think that was the general idea.” Cullen caught her hand and pointed ahead. “Look, there’s the light source—white inclusions in the obsidian rocks dotting the walls cast a glow.” He dampened the light from his staff.

  “And the tunnel forks. I wondered when it would become a labyrinth.”

  “Stay close, in case we find dangers around the turns.”

  Faced with choices as new tunnels cut off, Lyra tried to memorize the pattern of lefts and rights. The constant dripping sounds from the springs added to the hypnotic effect of the maze, confounding her efforts.

  From the right side of a junction, an upright figure lurched toward them, then stood stock still.

  Reflexively, Lyra jumped back a step before planting her feet to stand her ground.

  Cullen gripped his wizard’s staff hard, and its sapphire apex emitted a soft glow.

  The figure appeared more human than beast. Simple gray trousers and a tunic of coarse fabric covered the man’s thickly muscled frame. He stood only about four feet tall with a stooped posture. A brown felt hat with a crushed peak sat between his oversized, pointed ears. A wide nose and far-set eyes sat prominent on his flat face. Staring first at Lyra and then Cullen, the man’s coal-black eyes set against an ashen complexion reminded her of the sickly white color of the rats they met earlier.

  “Hello,” Lyra said, unable to withstand the stare-down.

  Cullen bowed his head. “We’re here seeking advice about your magic. Can you direct us to someone who is an expert?”

  The corners of the man’s mouth spread across his wide face, but didn’t lift into a grin. “Go that way. Ask for Goibben.” With stumpy fingers, he pointed to the left tunnel, the way he came. After yanking his hat lower on his brow, he set off to the right, his heavy leather boots thumping against the rocky path.

  Lyra and Cullen cautiously turned as directed. She peered over her shoulder to see the man also glancing back at her, grinning ear to ear and cackling to himself. After he turned away, her mouth dropped open. The lights in the stone wall revealed a rat-like pink tail extending from the seat of his pants. She grabbed Cullen’s arm and turned him around. “Look!” she whispered.

  “Strange,” he murmured. “Let’s keep going. Stay close.”

  The pair walked several minutes more, pausing at intersections to determine which path seemed to be the main corridor. The dripping and clawing noises persisted, setting Lyra’s nerves on edge as she strained to listen for approaching danger.

  Finally, they reached a large intersection where many tunnels joined. A cloud
of smoke hung in the air, filtering light from windows of dwellings and shops dug out of the stone walls. Streetlights of cast metal held curved arms high above them. White smoke frosted their glass globes. A pungent odor of burning herbs, sharp like sage, stung Lyra’s nose and throat.

  Dozens of men and women gathered in small conversation groups outside of storefront doorways. The businesses bore plaques with odd-sounding names: Seth’s Strategems; Fang Sharpener Extraordinaire; Lizard Libations; Billias Black, Gambit Broker. Some of the folk were stocky rat-people, like the man they met, with wide pale faces and tails. Others stood a head taller and leaner, almost skeletal, but equally pallid with blue veins visible beneath their thin skin. The men wore faded wash-pants and tunics. Most women appeared equally shabby, but in skirts, their hair bound with long scarves.

  One thin man stepped out from a group, his sunken eyes surveying Cullen and Lyra. “You two be strangers here. You be at the edge of Terza. Lost?” A jute rope gathered his pants around his narrow waist, and their too-short length exposed bony ankles above his thick-soled boots. By the fit, they must have been hand-me-downs, originally fashioned for a rat-person.

  “No. We’re here to gain advice about a certain type of your magic.” Cullen gave a quick bow. “My name is Cullen, and this is Lyra. A man we met on the road suggested we see someone named Goibben. If you think he can help, please direct us.”

  Lyra kept her eyes open while Cullen bowed. She wasn’t about to lower her guard to these people.

  The man grinned, revealing as many gaps as teeth. “Skrunt Sweedle be my name, but call me Skrunt.” He looked back to his friends and scratched his scalp, easily visible between sparse patches of lifeless hair. “Any of you gotten an eyeful of Goibben today?”

  “Didn’t he take down to Dradgest to visit family?” one woman replied. Her tall, thin frame was wrapped so tightly in yards of charcoal-colored gauze, it amazed Lyra to see how the woman sauntered toward them. “My name be Tayzia,” she cooed as she swung a long platinum braid over her bare shoulder and looped an arm inside Cullen’s elbow.

  The wizard jerked, then his entire body relaxed, letting down his guarded posture.

  By Tayzia’s behaviors and the black and purple make-up painted on her lips and eyelids, Lyra guessed the woman was a prostitute. She bristled at her advances on Cullen and doubted that he was mentally in control.

  “You sure?” Skrunt winked at the tramp.

  Tayzia smiled sweetly, but said nothing, tracing the points of long, black fingernails along the side of Cullen’s neck. Her earring dangled across his shoulder.

  Lyra prepared a defense spell if the woman’s allure turned into an enchantment. Thankfully, with the bloodswear ring, Lyra no longer needed to pronounce most incantations, unless drawing upon large amounts of her aura.

  “Naw, just came from his lane,” one of the men called out from where he sat on the stoop in front of the gambit seller. He paused to light his wooden pipe, an intricate curved shape that reminded Lyra of a flugelhorn. While exhaling a lungful of smoke, he added, “I seen his shop’s open. Musta took the short flap back.”

  “Be glad to offer my service and ‘scort you there.” Skrunt waved a hand down the road.

  Thinking these shadowy people might be more fearful of a man obviously dressed like a grand wizard, Lyra remained quiet and looked at Cullen. The sapphire on his staff now appeared dark, without any glow, and he made no motion to respond.

  Afraid of what had happened to him, Lyra took a firm hold of Cullen’s other arm. “We thank you for your offer,” she responded for them both, with as calm a voice as possible. She pulled on his arm when she stepped in the direction their guide indicated.

  Cullen remained planted and expressionless, while Tayzia rubbed his chest and fingered the jadestone brooch that fastened his cloak.

  “Let them go on, darlin’. Maybe you’d rather stay with me and unwind my dress?” the tramp whispered in his ear, and a thread of smoke seeped from her blackened lips. “Underneath, I promise all sorts of treasures I’ll bet you never saw…in trade for just this one pretty baub.” She turned the brooch and unsuccessfully attempted to open its clasp one-handed.

  Using her thumb, Lyra gave the bloodswear ring on her right index finger a twist while concentrating on the prepared spell. A flash of her gold aura shot squarely at Tayzia’s black eyes.

  “Ow!” The woman instantly dropped Cullen’s arm and moved away, holding a shaking hand to her forehead. She looked up, and her eyes narrowed. “Seems we have a smite of a witch.” She glided next to Skrunt. “I think Goibben might be really able to do them.”

  Skrunt smiled at the guests. “This way.” He strode along the stone street, watching the couple over his shoulder.

  Lyra suspected he led them into a trap, but, right or wrong, they needed to connect to a person knowledgeable in black magic. She yanked Cullen’s arm again. He responded and moved forward as if nothing unusual had happened.

  “Why are you prompting me onward?” He leaned into her. “I sense your alarm. What happened?”

  “You were enchanted by some smoke from that prostitute,” she whispered in a low voice so Skrunt wouldn’t hear.

  “Smoke? Really? How?”

  “Exhaled from her mouth into your ear.”

  Cullen’s eyebrows lifted. “Effluvial magic—something I’ve read about. Thank you.”

  Lyra nodded, but didn’t let go of his arm.

  Their guide led them beyond the merchant district, through a residential area, and into a stretch of uninhabited tunnel. No one gathered in that section, although the trio met dozens of scraggly passersby. Away from dwellings, the air cleared of smoke. Lyra felt her lungs expand and fogginess clear from her head, although she hadn’t been aware she’d suffered earlier. The pipe smoke, the prostitute’s smoke, the cloud softening the streetlamps—did they hold some kind of magic? She glanced at Cullen. Seeing him stand taller and his chest expand more fully, she knew he must have been affected the same way.

  With a clearer head and fewer eyes on them, Lyra felt less threatened. “Skrunt, what types of people live here? You look very different than the shorter folk.”

  He chuckled. “First time in Terza?”

  “Yes, it is,” Cullen replied with a firm, take-charge tone.

  The guide slowed, allowing them to walk abreast. “The short ones be called Rotters. My sort be Vizards.”

  The name Rotters made sense for anything resembling a rat. From her fantasy literature research, Lyra knew Vizard literally meant mask. This fact convinced her that their guide deceived them. She swallowed her nervousness and asked, “Are you wearing a mask?”

  “I am. We must ‘cause our real faces show only one emotion.”

  Lyra remembered Cullen’s childhood rhyme and pushed no further.

  Cullen gave her a knowing glance and mentally conveyed a message to her, a second line from the rhyme he just recalled. When the Vizard lowers his mask, the scorpent removes its killing eyes from the task.

  She shivered, but was grateful Tayzia gave her a chance to determine that Alliance magic operated in Terza. The trickling water echoed through the tunnel, and the smell of sulfur made Lyra grimace. She gritted her jaw and trudged forward.

  At the next crossroads, Skrunt turned left, and soon they entered another area of merchant shops and homes. Again, a cloud overhung the village roadways, dimming the lighting to an ominous glow.

  He turned down a narrow tunnel, just wide enough for two people to pass. It seemed to be an alley, connecting with the backdoors of homes and stores. Stench from garbage permeated the air. They made turn after turn. Lyra’s memory failed, probably numbed from the powerful effluvium, as Cullen called it. Unable to remember their way out, her pulse raced. She felt trapped.

  Skrunt glanced over his shoulder and encouraged them. “Come to.” After one more turn, he stopped. “The back of Goibben’s Gilded Lily.” He opened the door and led them inside.

  The shop appeared to be a de
corating store crammed with peculiar and exaggerated items. Candles burned while hanging upside down, apparently not needing oxygen. Figurines of animals in odd combinations reminded Lyra of the larger, more classic statues she saw outside Tarom’s Versula Solus retreat. Those had intrigued her with their eccentricities, while these were more grotesque and even horrifying. Body parts showed up in odd positions, like a single wing attached to the tongue of a seal-like creature, rib bones protruding from the eyes of a fish, or a mouth filled with jagged teeth affixed to the flank of an ox. She paused in front of a row filled with many figures of one variety, a scorpion head on a snake’s tail.

  “Hallo, Goibben,” their guide called to a man moving between tall decorations toward them.

  “Hallo to you. Who enters from my rear door when my front is locked?” A Vizard appeared, equally scrawny, but dressed a little more neatly than the men from the street. Goibben’s clothes were clean and fit him, although still simply constructed of coarse material. His hair was styled in thin cornrows, plastered to his pale scalp. In the brighter lights of the store, lines were obvious around his hairline where a mask attached.

  “Giving a hand to a fellow kith member. These newcomers need to know about black magic and already own some other sort of magic,” Skrunt said with a grin. The action widened dark lines at the edges of his mask.

  “Indeed. Welcome.” He motioned to the statuettes before Lyra. “You admire this art figure?”

  “It’s interesting,” she replied while studying the owner.

  “Then let me show you something you’ll really enjoy.” He pointed to the back office, led them toward the door, and held it open for Lyra and Cullen.

  Once the couple stepped inside the tiny room, Goibben slammed the door shut behind them. Between laughs, he croaked a curse. “…the ancient rites prevail...offer a witch and wizard to Terza’s scorpents…”

  Cullen tried the door handle and found it locked. He aimed his staff at it, but his sapphire remained dark. “Pateo!” he ordered and twisted his dragon ring. Nothing happened.

  Lyra summoned inner powers of her scribal aura and channeled them with the same incantation toward the door. Still no effect. Her pulse raced. “What’s happening? My magic worked before.”